


burn the mazes i grow

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: enigma [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Awkward Flirting, Background Relationships, Coming Out, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 11:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Stiles is learning new things and discovering secrets. It turns out that Allison is somehowlessinterested in Derek than Stiles thought she'd be. And that Derek might bemoreinterested inStilesthan Stiles thought he'd be.Which is probably going to be a good thing, once Stiles gets around the wholedude's not humanthing.--Or sequel toconfusion is a definite direction- Buffy!AU where Stiles just wants some alone time to read his books - or, if someone's gotta be involved, he'd rather it be a Derek he can flirt with.





	burn the mazes i grow

**Author's Note:**

> now with 80% less Scott for....whatever reason. 
> 
> yeah! I did write it! you didn't think I would, did ya? it's fine. I do that often enough (whoops) that it's a logical guess. 
> 
> anyway. yes, yes, sequel to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412057).
> 
> same music choices, but this time the title is from [virgin state of mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtxrCOVBySg), but i of course still recommend [charge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBvFNBdj2rk) and [strong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6zpsBeOWAM).  
> (who knows, if this gets one more companion piece, i'll title it after strong and call it a finished trio)

                Allison is such a schemer, Stiles is coming to realize. All she has to do is mention how much she is feeling a latte right now and Scott’s up off his chair and already heading back to the bar. Unbelievable.

 

                The second she’s sure he’s out of range, she leans in close and says, “So, Derek, huh? He’s hot.”

 

                Stiles is surprised by the level of her mimicry, but more than that, perhaps at how easily she’s now the one smirking at him, at how she’s swapped their places. It throws him off balance, enough that he can’t come up with a witty response. Instead, he turns to look out at all the dancers on the floor and purses his lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. At all. So, maybe you should just drop it.”

 

                This, of course, does not deter Allison, who only leans over so she’s in his sight again, with an evil little smile she’s not even trying to hide. Stiles scowls at her, but it’s not like he has any room to talk about how she’s being nosy and prodding. And truthfully, if anything, he’s a little relieved, if not confused as well, at her teasing.

 

                “What about you?” He asks, before she can take this any further. “I thought you and Derek were… kinda building up a thing. You know. Of the two of you. Together.”

 

                At this, her grin only gets wider, and Stiles doesn’t like it. Man, girls are scary when they want something.

 

                “You really thought that?” Allison looks too smug about this. He liked it all better when she was frustrated and embarrassed. “And you still looked at him like _that_?”

 

                That’s _so_ not fair. “Hey!” He waves his arms in a big arc, as if that will lessen the impact his misdoing had. “There’s nothing wrong with a man looking.” He pauses. “Not that I was – I. Sure, he’s… alright-looking,” _understatement_ , “But I was not _looking_ , myself. And uh, what do you mean ‘ _that_ ’. I. I didn’t look at him in any way, at all, ever. I don’t know what he looks like. Isn’t he… blonde? And really short. This is Derek we’re talking about, right?”

 

                Allison gives him the utmost _aw, honey, you tried_ face he’s ever seen, and he knows that if she were some older grandmother, she’d pat his cheeks and say _bless your heart_. He feels very patronized right now.

 

                In fact, she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, like she expects him to keep going. But, no, he’s done, so she’ll just have to stare at him, because he’s not incriminating himself any further. Nope.

 

                It doesn’t take her long to catch onto this, because her eyes sparkle in something that could probably be the club lights from above, but Stiles thinks is in _mischief_ , and sits up again. The move is slow, seemingly effortless, and more than intimidating. “You and I have something in common, you know,” she says in and low voice, and Stiles…

 

                “Is it Derek?”

 

                She shakes her head. Stiles really has no idea of where she is going with this.

 

                “We both have a certain, unusual lack of interest in the gender we’re supposed to.”

 

                Wha…

 

                Holy shit.

 

                Really?

 

                As his brain processes this news – Allison? Like him? But what about Scott? – half of it picks up on something else, “Wait, I have a vested interest in the other gender, too! I mean, have you _seen_ Lydia?”

 

                Lydia, with her pretty, precious curls, and her sharp, sharp tilt of her lips that mirrors her even sharper mind. With her calculating, heart-stopping gaze and her leather jacket Stiles wants to just put his hands on and tug –

 

                Wait. No. Shit. Abort. Abort mission.

 

                Allison’s own eyes glaze over for just a second, lost in thought, her voice drops its attempts at teasing when she nods, “Boy, _have_ I.”

 

                And with this all in the air and free, Stiles feels a little more balanced, sure footed. It feels like the space between them just leveled out a little bit, settling them on pretty even ground. Stiles grins a little, and he can see Allison do the same, a genuine, not at all mocking thing, and it lights up her face.

 

                Maybe Allison’s right. Maybe they have more in common than he thought.

 

* * *

 

 

                The book, the gold one about Slayers and their relationships with other Supernatural entities, is actually quite interesting. The only problem with it is that it seems to reference another book a lot, one that Stiles doesn’t have a hold on. From what he’s gathered, it appears to be some kind of encyclopedia for the other creatures, with extra details that this one does not divulge on. Every now and then, _especially_ when it starts to get really interesting, it’ll say something like _see also:_ and then a bunch of letters he recognizes as being part of the Slayer language of choice. But the letters are all the same, so he knows that it’s one particular book.

 

                One that he really wants to get into his possession.

 

                Especially for the section he’s on now – the werewolves (or other bizarre spellings, including _wyrwolf_ that he’s pretty sure means the same thing). This book keeps making hints about a hierarchy among the ‘wolves (peoples?) that is akin to, but not exactly like wolves found in captivity. Alphas, betas, omegas, all words thrown around along with _see also_ and _explained further in_. It’s all very teasing and Stiles is getting annoyed by it. It’s like any time he thinks he finds anything cool or helpful, it’s just a skimming of the surface, a free trial for something he can’t even _find_ , let alone buy.

 

                Maybe more riveting than the snippets of new information, however, would be the pictures. They’re all sketches, sometimes labelled, and rarely, colored. When he’d first sat down to skim through the book, he’d flipped through to look at many of the pictures. There was at least one for every section, often times at least a drawing of what the creature would look like. They were just as beautiful as they could be horrifying, depending on what was depicted, and all included an astounding attention to detail.

 

                There was one specifically that caught his attention. It was the one on the werewolves, which thus got him reading into it to see if it would explain just what the hell was going on in the unlabeled photo.

 

                One of the few colored ones, it was of a standing woman, presumably a past Slayer. In front of her was a mangled, distorted figure of some kind of beast. It was both very humanoid and… _not_. Similar to that of a person, it had four appendages, the front two longer and straighter than the back, and a distinct face. Though said face had humanish features, it also had a snout, with its lips pulled up to reveal large, sharp teeth in its gaping mouth. It’s eyes, strangely the most _and_ least human part of it, were the only part of it that was colored – a deep, gleaming red.

 

                Closer to the… _wolf_ side of things, it had thick, bushing fur that was heavier on the top and back of it, thinning as it got to its paws. And paws they were, with dangerous claws that seemed to jut right out of the skin. It had ears much like that of a dog’s, triangular and pointed, and in this photo, flicking away from the woman, as if in submission.

 

                The whole photo itself was the absolute image of submission. It was what drew Stiles to it in the first place.

 

                The werewolf, though hulking and huge, kneeled before the Slayer on one knee. It looked up to her face, neck stretched out long and in the open. It appeared to be in awe of her, with the way it watched so openly, mouth agape and so close to her legs, and how one of its paws was delicately splayed out on her hip. It was clearly, if nothing else, in a position of worship.

 

                As for the Slayer, it seemed that she knew as much. For she had one of her own hands laying over the top of its head. Despite the _wolf_ part of the werewolf, it did not look like she was simply patting it as one would a dog. Instead, it almost looked like she had threaded her fingers through its fur. Whether she was holding its head there or simply touching the beast, it wasn’t clear.

 

                Her other hand was also touching the werewolf. Their hands were linked, fingers twined and interlocked, and beneath them dangled a cord which held a very familiar looking cross.

 

                Stiles turns his focus from the picture to the passage beside it. He leans in closer to read it, letting his fingers skim over the picture. If he pressed into the page, he could still feel slight imprints from the utensil the author used to sketch with. He’s struck with the knowledge of just how important this book is – how much more significant it is than he will ever be.

 

                He’s going to need to start taking notes from this, lest something happen to it while he’s reading it.

 

                _The Alpha will greet her on his own, without the pack_ , he surmises from the clunky writing in Old English. _He will offer his service and a silver gift. If she is to agree, the bond is formed and together the Slayer and pack will work to eradicate the vampires_.

 

                The entire book is written in a similar fashion, with strange spellings of things and odd capitalizations. With his experience from the other books they’ve had to scour through for information, he can read it with only a little confusion. Still, this topic is a lot less dry than the other stuff, and without a time constraint on to pressure him, he finds himself enjoying the reading.

 

                It goes on to describe a few options for the _gift_ to be. Always silver, which seems to be very important, the gift is often small, and typically useful in some way. There are a few rings, one of which looks as if it was an actual _wedding_ ring, given by one Alpha named Josiah. Other gifts were knives or holy water flasks, sometimes clasps for clothing or hair.

 

                But the most traditional was the cross necklace, something heavy enough strung through it that it could be kept on the Slayer’s person and not lost. It was perhaps, less intimate than the other gifts, even if it was kept close to the heart. This was simply because it wasn’t made specifically for the Slayer herself, rather instead for the job she had or the bond that was to form. However, it was the flashiest, because anybody who knew anything about Supernatural subculture would know exactly what said silver cross meant, if it was the Slayer wearing it.

 

                Stiles sits back in his chair and lets this new information wash over him. He chews his lip and runs a hand over the back of his neck. In his head, he can see Allison’s necklace clearly and the image of it is eerily similar to the one in the photo in the book. The only difference appears to be that of the chain – for Allison’s is small and thin, short enough that it has to be clasped rather than draped over her head.

 

                _Derek_ gave her this necklace, this silver cross, this _gift_.

 

                He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and looks out the window, searching. Searching for what, he doesn’t really know. Answers, maybe. For all the questions he has. It’s always Derek it seems, that has him begging questions and being left with strange observations. But all there is outside is a dark sky and the silhouettes of trees and quiet homes.

 

                “Damn,” he whispers to himself, still staring, still looking. Damn.

 

                As much as he (briefly) entertained the idea that Derek could have been a _vampire_ –

 

                He _never_ thought the true answer would be _werewolf_.

 

* * *

 

 

                Stiles wakes up with two thoughts circling around in his mind. The first being that he’s forgetting something. Whatever it is slips from his head the second he tries to grasp onto it, so he lets it go, figuring it’ll come back to him. Or, well, tries to let it go, even though he knows his background brain is still pondering whatever it could be.

 

                The second being that he is freaking _starving_.

 

                He goes downstairs to fix the easier of the two, thinking over what he has to do today. He does all his homework at school now, so he doesn’t have any of that to deal with. The grass outside is going dormant, so he probably doesn’t have any yardwork, unless he needs to rake up some more leaves. The ones in the backyard can be ignored since they won’t blow into their neighbors’, but not the front trees.

 

                He pours himself a bowl of cereal and checks the fridge as he puts away the milk. They seem to be good on groceries. He doesn’t think the house needs to be cleaned yet either. Is it really a total day of relaxation? He hasn’t had one of those in a while.

 

                Smiling to himself, Stiles lifts up a spoonful to his mouth, excited to enjoy a day of peace and –

 

                His hand freezes in the air as the thing from waking up finally comes back to him.

 

                _Derek is a werewolf_.

 

                Damn it. So much for his day of relaxation, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

                It turns out that he’d forgotten another thing this morning, which would also be a thwart to his Saturday of just laying around the house. When he calls up Allison to give her the news, she talks first, delivering such news.

 

                “Stiles! Oh, I was just about to call you,” she says and her voice sounds a little too awake for his comfort. It sounds like shuffling on the other side of the landline, which means she was probably getting dressed or ready for something. “Scott’s about to pick me up and head over for your house. You’re ready, right?”

 

                And Stiles, dumbly, replies, “For what?”

 

                The other noise from her end stops like she’s paused completely. Her own silence, however, only lasts for a second, before she’s saying, slowly, “To go check out the Preserve. For that thing Derek mentioned. The thing he told you about.”

 

                “Then why can’t he deal with it?” Stiles whines, petulant and he knows it, but still making a list in his head of what he needs to do; pants, deodorant, hair, shoes. Ugh. “He’s the one that lives out there.”

 

                “He does?”

 

                Right. Stiles hadn’t mentioned that. “Yeah,” he starts, about to add on a little, _and you know what else is weird about him? The fact that he sprouts fur and howls at the moon once a month_.

 

                Allison beats him to it, and he can _hear_ the way she’s waving a hand through the air as if to brush away whatever arguments he might have. “Whatever. Tell me about it when we get there. And you need to come, because we don’t know what it is and how dangerous it could be.”

 

                Great.

 

                This is just – it’s all great.

 

* * *

 

 

                “So, Derek lives in the woods, huh?” Scott asks as soon as Stiles shuts the car door behind him and starts to fiddle with his seatbelt.

 

                “Don’t tell me you’re surprised,” Stiles shoots back, not looking up. Scott’s mom’s car always had the trickier seat belts, the kind that loved to disappear into the crevices between the seats. Before Allison came along, Stiles never had to sit in the back, and every time he has to deal with this, he misses those days, just a little.

 

                He glances up to see Scott shrug and Allison shaking her head. As Scott pulls out onto the street, Stiles finally clicks in his seatbelt and leans back into the seat itself. Allison looks over her shoulder at him and asks, “Have you talked to him recently?”

 

                There’s a gleam in her eye that Stiles doesn’t like. It’s the one she always gets when they talk about Derek now – the one that’s started because of Stiles’ _interest_ in the man. Wolfman? Whatever. The guy. Dude.

 

                Wolfdude?

 

                “Oh, I don’t know,” drawls Stiles, lifting his chin to meet her eyes. If anything, she just looks more amused. Goddamn it, he’ll never win. Well, maybe he could, if he says, “Have you talked to Lydia?”

 

                Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Scott look up into the rearview mirror to glance at them. Oh no – he’d forgotten about that. What’s he supposed to do about Scott? Should he try to convince him to get over Allison, somehow without outing her? Or should he just ignore it?

 

                He’ll have to ask Allison about it herself. But somehow without telling her about Scott’s crush. Unless she already knows. Which, knowing her, she probably already does.

 

                This is complicated. Stiles is pretty sure he actually prefers dealing with the vampires over this.

 

                Allison’s air of teasing drops. She purses her lips with a, “Touché,” and turns right around in her seat again.

 

                When Stiles starts to laugh, she reaches back to swipe at him, hitting (and hard!) without even turning around. Damn.

 

* * *

 

 

                As he waits for the other two to get out of the car and lock it up, Stiles looks up at the sky. It beats looking at the looming woods they’re about to head into senselessly, after all. The sky itself appears to be a little too dark for an early Autumn morning.

 

                “I think it’s going to rain.” Stiles calls, face still pointed upwards. That’s some bullshit. Not only do they have to do the dangerous thing, they have to do it in the woods, in the _rain_. How did he get talked into this again?

 

                Allison comes up beside him and shifts her crossbow on her arm. She looks up, too, and sighs, like it’s an inconvenience, but a minor one. “Guess we’ll have to find this thing before it starts to pour, huh?”

 

                Man, he hates this fucking town and all its fucking creatures.

 

                Scott strolls up beside them, juggling a flask and a stake in one hand as he tries to shove his keys into his pocket. Stiles himself has a stake and a simple wooden cross. He looks down at it, thumb running over it, careful to go along the grain so he doesn’t end up with a splinter. He’s glad that Allison just has a bunch of these, because he doesn’t think he could bear taking down one of his mother’s old crucifixes and subsequencely losing it.

 

                On the subject of Allison and crosses…

 

                He glances at her necklace, currently pulled out from her shirt and laying beneath her collarbone. The sun catches it just right and it shimmers, bright and translucent like glass.

 

                “Allison,” at the sound of her name, she turns to look at him, questioning. Even he can tell his voice is a little rougher, and maybe he’s a coward for going about it this way, but he doesn’t know if he could answer the questions that she’ll undoubtly have. “I’ve got a book for you at my house.”

 

                “What about?”

 

                His eyes dart to the necklace again, but she catches him. She, too, looks down, and without him even having to say anything, she understands. Her lips fall open in a soft _oh_.

 

                Scott makes a sound when he’s done, and they both startle out of their previous conversation to look at him. When he lifts his head, a small smile on his face, he doesn’t ask why they’re both looking at him. He probably just assumes they were waiting on him. Instead, he only tilts his head towards the trees and raises his eyebrows. “Ready to go?”

 

                _To be chased through the woods and fearing for my life? As much as I’ll ever be_ , Stiles thinks bitterly, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. As if she can tell what he’s thinking anyway, Allison nudges him with her elbow, a grin growing on her face, and together, they all step forward.

 

* * *

 

 

                Absolutely nothing.

 

                That’s what they find in the woods.

 

                They gained nothing from that trip, except for maybe a free shower and more than likely, the sniffles. God, it hasn’t even hit yet, and Stiles already knows that he won’t be able to breathe for like, a whole _week_.

 

                This is _really_ some bullshit.

 

                Whatever it is that Derek saw must be gone or in hiding, or something. That’s so freaking lame. It didn’t even have the decency to make itself easy to find and then get rid of, which Stiles finds to be pretty rude. He just spent a useless morning in the woods – a place he doesn’t even _like_ – and got nothing out of it.

 

                He opens his mouth to start bitching about it – Allison’s lucky he’s waited this long at all, focused on keeping quiet and looking for whatever it could be – but stops, completely, at what he sees leaning against Scott’s mom’s car. Or rather, _who_ he sees.

 

                Speak of the devil and he doth appear – it’s Derek.

 

                Derek, who’s been waiting on them for God knows how long, and in the rain. He’s soaked, hair sticking to his forehead and clothes pasted to his body, looking more than a little drowned. Still, the sight of him makes Stiles’ mouth go dry.

 

                He tries to swallow on sudden nothingness, and beside him, he thinks he hears Allison snort.

 

                She continues to walk on forward without Stiles, calling through the pitter-patter sounds of raindrops. Scott is quick to stay right at her arm, and Stiles pulls himself together enough to find amusement at that.

 

                “Derek,” his name is said with nonchalance, like they’re two old friends meeting in an unexpected, but relatively normal place. Like a supermarket, or the library, rather than the chilly roadside of the Preserve. “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold like the rest of us.”

 

                Derek pushes himself off the car using the side of his hip rather than his hands, and Stiles is helpless to watch the way it makes his torso ripple. Stiles, despite knowing that he won’t be able to focus on anything else, desperately picks up his feet as to not lag behind. He’s close enough to hear Derek’s voice, quieter, as Allison approaches.

 

                “What’re you doing in the woods?” He completely ignores Allison’s greeting, getting straight to business, but judging from the upturned twist of her lips, she’s quite used to it.

 

                As Stiles comes right up on Allison’s side – the one that Scott isn’t guarding – she answers, “Looking for that thing you told Stiles about.” She shifts her weight and cocks her head. Stiles has a feeling that this is a little bit of a contest of some kind. “You didn’t give us much to work off of this time.”

 

                Derek shoots a sharp look towards Stiles (which, _why_? Why always _him_?), his face hardening into a scowl. Kind of. It gets darker than it was before, though. Then, completely directed at Stiles himself, he bites out, “I told you that so you _wouldn’t_ come out here.”

 

                And hey! How the hell was Stiles supposed to know that? Derek didn’t give heads or tails of any warnings to not do or go anywhere.

 

                Not that it would work, either way, because it’s common knowledge that if you tell Stiles not to do something, it means he’ll do it.

 

                Also, this now means that he’s _totally_ coming back to see what’s out here sometime soon. Sorry, Derek. Shouldn’t have planted the idea.

 

                “I don’t know why you’re looking at _me_ ,” Stiles frowned right back. “I didn’t even _know_ we were monster hunting today until this morning. I thought it was just going to be another lazy Saturday I could spend jacking off.”

 

                On the other side of Allison, Scott spits out a frazzled laugh. It’s the first sound he’s made since Derek’s appearance. “Dude! TMI!”

 

                But Stiles doesn’t look away from Derek. He doesn’t miss the way his expression twitches, much like it did that day in the club. He doesn’t miss the way Derek’s fingers curl into his fist before he straightens them out again. Stiles looks up again, to see Derek still making that silent, burning eye contact with him. It strikes a heat that constants so starkly against the cold rain and air.

 

                “Why don’t we talk about this in the car?” Allison cuts in sweetly, and when Scott chokes again, she tacks on, “Not Stiles’ masturbatory habits! The thing we were looking for! Jeez, Scott.”

 

                Stiles shakes his head as he makes his way over to the back car doors, grinning to himself and pretending that he isn’t hyperaware of Derek’s presence. _Especially_ when it follows behind him, close enough he can feel the body heat pouring off in waves onto his back. As Scott goes around the car to his side, Stiles twists around, finding himself almost pressed up against the metal, with Derek leaving him close to no personal space.

 

                He can’t say he actually minds.

 

                “Careful,” he says, well, purrs maybe. He licks a drop of rainwater off his bottom lip and watches the way Derek doesn’t bother hiding how he eyes every movement of Stiles’ tongue. He doesn’t know where this part of him is coming from, this false confidence somehow hiding the overeager pounding in his heart, his veins. All he knows is that he’s thankful for its sudden appearance. “It’s a little crowded back here.”

 

                If anything, it feels like Derek only looms closer at that, pupils expanding and darkening his gaze further.

 

                Stiles reaches behind him to grasp the door handle as he waits for the _click_ of the lock to show that it’s open. He doesn’t allow himself to step back, because he’s going to need room to open the door, and he has a feeling that Derek isn’t going to be the one to take a step back either.

 

                “I’m sure we’ll make it work.” Derek’s tone would perhaps sound sardonic if Stiles didn’t have any other context. If he didn’t feel how close together they were. If he didn’t see the way Derek was looking at him. If the air didn’t feel so heavy, and not from the rain, maybe.

 

                He’s got a dry humor about him, Stiles is starting to learn. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

 

                And even with the new werewolf revelation, the more Stiles learns about Derek, the more he likes him. Hell, maybe he’ll like this werewolf thing, too, once he knows more about it. It certainly hasn’t put them in any danger. In fact, he’d say Derek’s kept them _out_ of a lot of danger.  Like Derek said, they’ll make it work.

 

                The thing in the woods, Derek’s secret, the state of the tiny backseat. They’ll make it all work.

 

                He grins at Derek, who seems a little surprised, but not unpleased at the shift in his mood. He doesn’t do it with his mouth, but Stiles is sure that the crinkling beside Derek’s eyes are a smile right back at him.

 

                Stiles likes that too.

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays and happy new year everyone!
> 
> i'll see you all next year, hopefully with some new fic


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